


and breathes herself into their love

by agenthill



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All things in this world are finite; so says The Chant, and so it is--but even infinity is comprised of so many finite moments.</p><p>Or, a collection of short-ish Pentilyet things without a home.</p><p>Title from Aeneid 2.805</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. by her graceful walk the queen of love is known

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt at the long-defunct 50-50 Challenge, in which one was supposed to clear one's drafts and get in the habit of writing daily by transforming 50 WIPs and headcanons into 50 ficlets in 50 days. It's not, however, a good faith attempt; I'm well aware that this will likely end up with fewer than 50 ficlets being produced in more than 50 days. I'll enjoy trying, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the consolidated and finished version of a 4.5k WIP about overcoming internalized homophobia (inter alia). The original fic was, ultimately, too personal.
> 
> Chapter title from Aeneid 1.561.

At the end of a long day, Cassandra and Josephine are in the habit of walking the battlements together, at times talking, venting their frustrations, and at others silent, nothing but the motion of their steps tying them together as they move in time, shoulder to shoulder, one-two, one-two, left-right, left-right. Any who was watching might see them fall into step as easily as breathing, as if the natural rhythm of their movements draws them together.

 

It is comfortable, this routine, a reprieve from the busyness of their days.

 

But if a cold gust of air were to blow suddenly—then the illusion of ease would be shattered in an instant, for though they talk with the ease of lovers always some distance remains between them. Nothing about such a walk is easy, for Cassandra.

 

There is some truth to appearances, for the two are lovers. Behind closed doors, they are perfectly able to share breath, share space, share a bed. It is, however, precisely that intimacy which makes contact out of bed (and out of doors) so uncomfortable. Always, between them, is the weight of a secret, and Cassandra finds herself less bold for fear of it being discovered. To think, she had imagined secret relationships to be a grand romantic affair. Now she knows they are not so, for one plagues what otherwise would be a calming evening stroll.

 

It was not always so; their first walk around the battlements, having been devoid of romantic intent, also occurred at some distance from one another, but was free of this terrible tension, this anxiety. Gradually, they had drifted closer, the line between friendship and amorous connection blurring somewhat, and still, there was nothing but peace. Until one day they stood shoulder to shoulder, and Cassandra realized what their walks had begun to look like—that such might be seen as an evening stroll between lovers.

 

Rather than embrace their budding romance, as she then recognized it, Cassandra had been scared, had pushed Josephine away, both in the figurative sense, insisting that any romantic notions Josephine might harbor could not be reciprocated, and somewhat more literally, enforcing a distance between the two of them when walking, such that there could be no accusations of impropriety.

 

Given time, however, Cassandra had come to miss the contact, come to miss the closeness both physical and emotional, had realized the reason why doing so felt so right, and they fell into step once again. It was a long time, still, between recognizing and admitting to her feelings—and even after, there remained the question of their walks.

 

If life were like Cassandra's novels, she would have confessed love (or been confessed to), and she and Josephine would have announced their new relationship through grand romantic gestures, revealing it to all who knew them. Life was, however, not like her novels, and instead Cassandra found that she was hesitant to display affection so openly. Perhaps it was the newness of the thing, the delicacy of a budding romance, and if anyone had asked she would have said it was so, but there was something more to her skittishness that could not be explained by such—although they had not flaunted their relationship, Cassandra and Regalyan had never attempted to disguise their affections.

 

With Josephine, however, Cassandra found she was afraid to be seen to be standing to close in public, afraid that someone would realize they were coupled. Cassandra was not ashamed of her new relationship, far from it, but she knew that once it was known that she was in a relationship with Josephine she would be seen differently, would be treated differently, even though she still felt largely the same. There was nothing wrong with an interest in people of the same gender, Cassandra knew this, but knowing it was so would not affect how others reactions to her would change, and so did little to comfort her fears. She had had a hard enough time admitting her attraction to herself when she fell for Josephine, had repressed her own desires for decades. How could anyone understand what her sexuality meant, within the context of her life, when she herself did not yet understand? She needed time, to learn how she felt, how she wanted others to react—she knew she would have no measure of control over their reactions, but forewarned was forearmed, and Cassandra was never unarmed.

 

So she waited. Initially, Josephine was hurt by Cassandra's refusal to show affection in public, not understanding what the problem was (and assuming it lay within herself). Such was not the case, of course, and when Cassandra learned such and explained at last her trepidation to Josephine, however haltingly, she had been understanding, had reassured Cassandra in such a way that did not dismiss her concerns. Perhaps Josephine had never felt such about her own sexuality, or not so completely, but, as she explained it to Cassandra, even though she had always been open about her sexuality Josephine still found herself in the company of new acquaintances who did not know her preferences, and were taken aback, or surprised, or treated her differently in some other way. There would be no pressure from her for Cassandra to say anything, not yet—she could not promise not ever, but not yet was enough for Cassandra.

 

Because of her fear, and in part perhaps because of her admission, and the nature of a shared secret, it was all the more thrilling then the first time she allowed the back of their hands to touch on a walk. A sudden shock of adrenaline coursing through her when it happened. Josephine had been surprised, and in the privacy of her quarters had kissed Cassandra so deeply she felt she might drown, and in many ways that first fleeting contact felt to Cassandra like taking a first, stumbling step. When they spoke of it later, Josephine seemed to view it as something almost fancifully romantic. It was not so in Cassandra's eyes—for all that it had been titillating, triumphant, and hopeful, it was, above all else, terrifying.

 

From that point on, although it was not easy, and indeed was not even close to being so—a not inconsiderable amount of time passed before they walked so close to one another with any regularity, and sometimes even once such became fairly consistent Cassandra would balk, would panic and have to work back up the courage to do so again—progress felt inevitable. It was not until two months past that first, fleeting contact, the two of them walked hand in hand.

 

Now, three weeks after that, pausing to watch the stars, perched just so on the edge of the battlements, nothing but sky above them and darkness below, Cassandra thinks herself ready to move just one step further. It is still a long way from an open declaration of romantic intent, a long way from the romantic ideal that Cassandra has for so long built up in her head, but it is where she is, and in this moment she is happy being there. Scared, but above all else, happy.

 

So, taking one last quick look to see that they are alone, she slides an arm over Josephine's shoulder, pulling her closer, allowing her lover's head to rest on her shoulder, and she can see her breaths come quickly in the cold mountain air, but she can also see the stars, vast and unknowable as the future which lies before her.


	2. in shining armor once again i sheathe my limbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I visited Skitch (Hinterlands) in Philadelphia yesterday, and we saw a lot of very cool old armor, which was fantastic, but now I'm eating my words wrt Cass' battlemaster armor. As it turns out, armor with a heart carved into it isn't the least bit unbelievable. In fact, it's totally believable. I saw it with my own two eyes.
> 
> Also I learned about bluing steel and holy shit knights were super colorful.

            Understanding is central to negotiations.  One needs to know all other parties' goals, their beliefs, and what they hold dear—what would they give for this?  What would they not?  In order to be an effective negotiator, one must be able to read people, to know them, intimately, and to know their experiences.  To be able to negotiate, one must be able to put oneself in another's place and Josephine is nothing if not good at what she does.

            It is not until Cassandra returns from Caer Oswin that Josephine realizes the limitations of her abilities.  For all that she can identify what it is Cassandra must be feeling, for all that she knows why, she cannot imagine the feeling itself. 

            Josephine is more than a negotiator, she is a politician; Josephine knows corruption, knows that no organization can be what she wishes it to, and much as one might think she was an idealist, speaking to her, Josephine is no believer.  When, then, Cassandra has her faith shattered, learns that that which she fought for, killed for, is riddled with traitors and fueled by lies, Josephine has not the ability to truly empathize with Cassandra, and is of no recourse.

            Watching Cassandra struggle to cope with her grief—for she is grieving, not only for the dead but for herself, for something that she lost along with the Seekers—and being powerless to help her is an unfamiliar and altogether unpleasant situation for Josephine, who has little experience with impotence, has rarely been unable to fix something herself given time.  In many ways, Josephine's self-definition is centered on her relationships with others, she takes pride in achieving goals to the benefit of all, but this situation is not one Josephine can hope to ameliorate, not when she cannot even truly understand it.  Cassandra is lost, and Josephine knows she must find her own way home, but she wishes, desperately, that it were not so.

An inability to help with the core of Cassandra's problem does not, however, mean that there is nothing to be done, not entirely.  Josephine does not immediately identify a problem with which she can help, something which by doing they might both feel a bit better, but two weeks following Cassandra's return there is, at last, something to be done.

            There is yet another dinner with nobility, an attempt to win the Inquisition's way into their hearts—or their coinpurses.  For all that she tries to escape them, Cassandra is not exempted from attendance, the Hero of Orlais being the object of much admiration.  Usually, she does so in her formal Seeker armor, that which she wore at the side of the Divine, but not tonight.  Tonight Cassandra is wearing the Inquisition's formal attire, looking somehow more uncomfortable than she would normally.   For a moment Josephine wonders at it—Cassandra hates the jacket, they all do, it itches terribly and only serves to highlight the red in her eyes—but she knows her love well enough that the problem is clear.  Clear, and solvable. She smiles just a bit brighter when smoothing over ruffled feathers for the duration of dinner.

            The next morning, before her first appointment of the day, Josephine meets with Dagna.  Much as the smith's experimenting might be a source of consternation, she is a master armorer, and her traditional work is unrivaled.  Furthermore, she knows what kind of armor Cassandra generally wears, knows her measurements after many months spent enchanting armor for the Inquisition.  So it is to her, and not any other, Josephine turns to in order to commission for Cassandra a new set of formal armor.  She asks that Dagna make formal plate flexible enough to dance easily in, but enchanted with some protections necessary for a fight in case of emergencies—Cassandra hates to think that she is unprotected in any situation—in a style similar to that which Cassandra wears in the field.  Any decorations will be done only if Cassandra asks for them, and after the rest of the armor is complete.  Josephine knows her love, but she does not know the conventions surrounding knights' decoration of their armor, and would not like to be presumptive.

            Dagna agrees, not because the project is particularly challenging or interesting for her, but because she is somewhat indebted to Josephine following the acquisition of some rare materials.  Cultivating as many favors as Josephine does can be exhausting, but in times like this the value of the practice is indisputably proven.

            Until such a time as the armor can be completed, Josephine does her best to keep meetings which require Cassandra's presence to a minimum, or arranges the visits of nobles she suspects will want to see Cassandra during her travels with the Inquisitor.  Even so, it is a long two months.  Josephine does what little she can to show Cassandra that she is there, if anything should be needed, does her best with other little things, and Cassandra, for her part, is healing, slowly.  Reframing her identity is something Josephine imagines must be terribly difficult for her, and she is doing so whilst trying to determine a path for ward for the Seekers, if there is to be one at all.  Helping Cassandra to process her emotions at times feels overwhelming, and Josephine worries that what she can do is not enough, that she is failing her lover, but there is nothing more to be done; Cassandra is independent, is stubborn, and cannot allow herself to rely on someone else, not entirely—there is nothing more she would allow Josephine to do.

              When the armor is completed, Cassandra spends two hours in discussion with Dagna, presumably designing decorative elements, but Josephine is not privy to that conversation.  It is personal and, in any case, Josephine suspects from the kiss she received that Cassandra understood the intent of her gift well enough, which is the extent of Josephine's interest in the armor itself.

            Or, Josephine thinks it is the extent of her interest, until the first occasion upon which it is worn.  It is yet another of the dinner parties, and Cassandra arrives just late enough that Josephine has not time to properly speak with her before they are seated.  The armor is beautiful, all finished, with any number of decorative elements engraved into the plate—flowers, figures from the Chant, and a few verses, but her eye is immediately drawn to a small, heart-shaped part of the breastplate which has been blued, and is a bright, brilliant color, like one might see on the feather of a peacock.  Josephine has not time enough to ask about it, but Cassandra says to her two words before dinner which are quite explanation enough, and it is all she thinks of through dinner.

            "For you."


	3. thy poet's mind inspire, and fill his soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mia wanted book sharing, and I think I kind-of, sort-of, vaguely fulfilled that request. More to the point, it finally got me to articulate an older headcanon of mine, which I've tweeted about a few times but never really done anything with.
> 
> I almost didn't write this because I'm in the hospital and if ever there was an excuse to miss a day of a challenge, it's an emergency medical procedure, but if I failed on DAY THREE that would be too embarrassing, so here I am.

            For all that she is a very emotionally driven person, quick to anger and prone to fits of passion (for her beliefs and, to a lesser degree, people), Cassandra is not, in fact, particularly skilled at understanding her emotions.  She knows that they are, and she feels them, intensely, but often she has difficulty in identifying them or allowing herself emotional release in a way which she imagines others might consider appropriate.  Most of the time, she squares her shoulders and keeps moving towards her goals, discussing her feelings with no one and allowing them to fester and seethe within her until she can stab something... or someone.  It is not healthy, but growing up with only corpses and an uncle who cared more for the dead than the living, it is all she has ever known.

            This is what she imagines her comrades must believe of her.  While much of it is true—she is passionate, she does punch through her emotions at times—it is not such powerful emotions which Cassandra struggles to process, but vulnerability.  For so long has she struggled to be self-reliant, to learn to be strong, to be unwavering in her faith and her resolve, that at times she feels she has lost the ability to feel sorry for herself, to process her fear, to understand when she is grieving.  She struggles to find the words for what she feels, and so she turns to the masters, to poets who paint landscapes with their grief, color lives with their love, taint symbols with their fear.  When she reads, it helps her, because for a moment she is no longer herself, and while she cannot grieve for herself, she can mourn others' losses, and the emotions she feels while doing so are much the same as they would be if she felt for herself.  Such a system may not be an entirely appropriate substitution for reconnecting to a part of herself she nearly killed so that the rest of her might survive, but she is doing the best she can with what resources she has, and it works.

            When she and Josephine are together, she need not worry about voicing her emotions precisely, can fall back upon vague gestures and expressions, and Josephine knows her well enough to understand what it is she is hinting at, what emotion troubles her to which she cannot give a name.  Perhaps it is not ideal, but they have a functional understanding, and her lack of words is well matched to Josephine's tendency to ramble.  While they are together, it is no problem.

            When they are forced apart, that is when Cassandra at last reaches a point where she cannot rely upon what others have, perhaps unkindly, referred to as an expressive face.

            In the days following the announcement that the Inquisition is to be disbanded, Josephine and Cassandra decided, independently, that they ought to go their separate ways for a time, not ending their relationship, but ceasing to cohabitate for a few months, perhaps a year or two at most, while Josephine finished out her administrative duties within the Inquisition, and while Cassandra was in the earliest stages, rebuilding the seekers.  It was an easy enough decision, the logical one, neither would be of any use to the other during such a time, and they had lived well enough apart when Cassandra was on missions, and in the years before they met one another.  Perhaps in many ways Cassandra had been driven by passion, but this decision was purely pragmatic.

            Which brings Cassandra to her current predicament.  Three months into their separation, Cassandra has realized that although she does not need Josephine at her side, she very much wants her there.  Moreover, she has not the words to express this longing—need—desire—pining—emptiness—this thing.  She has not the words, and she cannot bear to think that Josephine, however many miles away, not know this realization she has reached about herself, that she is whole alone but that she is more than whole when they are together.  All at once, she feels as if something inside her has shifted in a way she could not have known she was capable of, that she has become more than one whole person, and that she would be wounded—shattered—lost in some way she cannot fully verbalize if Josephine did not feel the same.

            Between them they have naught but letters to communicate, but Cassandra has no way of putting so great a sentiment to words, not ones concise enough to fit in a letter.  Such feelings are much better suited to the work of poets, or to authors who may spend hundreds of pages in their exposition.  Cassandra had not the time, nor the skill, to produce such works as might convey her meaning, might suit her purposes.

            Perhaps, however, she need not do any of the writing herself.  When Josephine's next letter arrives, Cassandra does not respond immediately, but spends the better part of three days going over all the books in her personal library, scouring volumes of poetry and re-reading jackets to refresh herself on plot details.  When she is done, she sends a parcel, not a scroll, back to her love.  Inside is a letter, answering Josephine's concerns, and a reading order, three poems and a book, all enclosed within.  Then there is naught to do but wait.

            Wait she does.  A week passes, and Cassandra knows that the parcel has likely arrived.  Two weeks pass, and Cassandra would normally have received a response by now; she tries not to worry, because she knows reading a book takes time, but worry she does, in the dark of the night alone with her thoughts.  A month passes, then another half month, and she spends inordinate time at the training dummies.  She is certain, now, that Josephine does not return her sentiments and is too kind to write her to tell her, certain that she has overstepped, somehow.  Two months past, and Cassandra has lost hope, when she receives a raven at the breakfast table, "Andraste 14:11," it says, in familiar script, and the raven flies back out to the courtyard.

            Books in her arms, Josephine is stood waiting.


	4. the fated skin is proof to wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to write to write something entirely different, but this is also based upon a prior headcanon, so it's fine. Kelli once asked if anyone had any thoughts about when and how Cassandra got her facial scars, and... I did.
> 
> Follow link to end notes for content warning.

            Cassandra is not a difficult person to read, for the most part; she is neither good at deception nor fond of it.  This is one many things Josephine finds refreshing about Cassandra's company, her earnestness, the fact that Josephine need not worry, constantly, about a hidden agenda or seek out a second meaning in her words.  However, there is one thing which Cassandra has learned to mask, one deception which suits her purposes, and Josephine worries that one day it will get her killed.  On the battlefield, Josephine can see the advantage of being able to mask one's pain, but something—stubbornness, or a belief others' need is greater, or both—prevents Cassandra from seeking medical attention in a timely manner, and often it is not until they are retiring for the night that Josephine finds a wound, hastily bandaged and half-healed, which might have easily been fixed by a healer. 

            Never are Cassandra's injuries life-threatening, in fact none are serious, and she does not return from every mission in such a state, both things for which Josephine supposes she should be grateful, but she worries nonetheless.  To choose to stay injured so, when there is no need, is unfathomable, and Josephine is, if she is honest with herself, scared for Cassandra.  She is afraid of what this might mean, of this leading to something greater.  While the Breach yet remains unsealed, and Corypheus a problem, Josephine knows Cassandra would not unduly risk her life, not on purpose, but this does seem terribly self-destructive, in a way that keeps Josephine awake at night.

            Initially, Josephine had ignored it, tried to put it out of her mind, because for all that she knew this behavior might be common of warriors, or such healing might have been a costly and unnecessary expenditure of energy, but as time passed and only Cassandra came home with wounds, only Cassandra developed new scars, it became apparent that such was not the case, and now Josephine can no longer let it pass by unremarked upon, cannot sit idly by as Cassandra is hurt.  She resolves to bring it up the next time Cassandra returns injured from a mission.

            When the time arises, however, Josephine says nothing.  She knows not how to bring the issue forward, for she does not know, in truth, what the issue is, cannot understand what it is that must be going through Cassandra's mind, and therefore could not respond to it properly.  There are some pains, she knows which are not made better by speaking of them, some things people would prefer not brought to light, and she does not want to make things more difficult for Cassandra by encroaching on her privacy, does not wish to force her into a conversation she is not prepared for.  Asking head on, in this case, why it is Cassandra is refusing healing may not be the best approach.  Instead, she waits until that wound has healed, until the skin is raised and pink, four long claw marks across Cassandra's back, before broaching the subject.

            "I heard," says she, "that there was a bear terrorizing your camp in the Emerald Graves.  It must have been frightfully large to leave a mark such as that."

            "Yes," answers Cassandra, and for a moment Josephine fears that she will say nothing more, that the question will remain unasked.  However, a moment more and Cassandra continues, "We were rash.  Johnson—a scout—came to us complaining of the bear, and we thought nothing of it.  There are bears throughout the Graves, and we had dealt with them handily.  It—we thought it would be little trouble.  Often, the greener scouts complain of things which are not too difficult for us to solve.  It was... not like we assumed, she was massive, and protecting her cubs.  Johnson had brought us along, to show us her lair and—we made a mistake.  He died."

            "Is that why," asks Josephine, "you chose to keep the scar?"  It makes sense, and is consistent with when Cassandra has been injured before—Adamant, Haven, after a mission gone awry in the Western Approach.

            "It was not intentional," says Cassandra, answering the question Josephine is really asking, "Not at first.  The first of the scars were at the Conclave.  I was reckless, looking for Most Holy.  In that moment I," she pauses as she breathes, "I do not think I cared, whether I lived or died.  I was injured and it did not—does not—matter compared to our other losses that day.  What was the point in healing a superficial cut when our concerns were so much greater?  I let it be.  And from there... I never meant for it to be a habit.  I know that it is one, has become one, but it, it was never my intent.  Perhaps it is guilt, that I survived, some means of apology to the dead, or a reminder."

            Josephine does not know what to say to that, does not know if there is anything she could say.  Instead, she moves so that she is sitting in Cassandra's lap, and holds her as tightly as she can.  A few minutes pass before she can think of what to say, and when she does, it does not seem enough.

            "It scares me," says she, and thinks: I am afraid for you, I have no idea how to help you, What if one day this becomes something more?

            "I know," says Cassandra, and Josephine thinks what she really means is that it scares her too.  "I never meant to scare you," she adds, and it sounds like she is saying she never meant for this to happen at all.

            "Will you stop, now?" asks Josephine, and she hopes that the answer is yes, hopes that she is not asking too much, hopes that in doing this, she is not going to push Cassandra away.

            "I can try," answers Cassandra, and Josephine has never been so relieved to hear those words in her entire life.

            "That is all I could ask, my love," says she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for self-harm. Nothing graphic but it is discussed at length.


	5. leave the conduct of the rest to love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jone asked for a date in Val Royeaux gone awry and I paired it with a somewhat sad headcanon, as it seems I am in the habit of doing.
> 
> In other news... I'm only 10% of the way through with this challenge. Put otherwise, if I worked on this only every other day from here on out I would finish on the day my partner and I are moving into our new apartment, which is to say it is a terribly long way from done.

            Often, Cassandra worries that she is going about the whole business of courting wrong.  For so long, she has held an image of an ideal romance in her mind, based upon so many poems and daydreams, but now that she finds herself in a romance of her own, with Josephine, the image seems flawed.  In part, this inconsistency is because of the nature of stories, that what is written could never account for the complexity of a real relationship, that it is easier to neglect that which is difficult or unpleasant, but the better part of the problem stems from the fact that in all of her readings, and in her imagination, Cassandra has always been involved with a man.  Never did she dream that she might end up with a woman, and while she does not regret it, as much as this relationship feels right, she does at times feel lost.  In truth, Cassandra has no idea how a relationship between two women is supposed to work.

            There are rituals involved in the courtship between a man and a woman, established patterns, ones which ease the transition from living as one to being part of a set, which make it easier to plan romantic interactions, and easier to know what is expected, rituals which do not seem to exist for a courtship between two women.  Cassandra has rarely been accused of being too traditional, would not let social mores stop her from doing what she believes is good and proper, but she still finds herself lost with no tradition at all to guide her.  In situations where the interaction between a man and a woman would be clear cut, she hesitates.  Does she want to be brought flowers, or does she only think that she wants such because that is what is feminine and proper?  If she does want such, how can she expect Josephine to know?  What role, if any, does her more "masculine" job and presentation play in their relationship?

            While the most pressing of her questions are resolved quickly—Josephine does not assume that Cassandra will take a masculine role, and indeed delights in both giving and receiving flowers, and reassures Cassandra that the why of liking flowers may not be as important as the fact that she does—the doubt lingers.  When things go wrong, the littlest of things, Cassandra wonders if there is something she should have known, feels out of her depth.  What is more, Josephine, who has more experience and is, in any case, better with planning and people, usually does not seem bothered by little things like the both of them hesitating at a door, waiting for the other to open it; instead she laughs, brushes things off.  The very act of being in a relationship seems easier for her, and while Cassandra is a little bit jealous, she is more afraid that Josephine will eventually tire of her mistakes, will want to be in a relationship with someone who knows what it is they are doing.  Such fears, however, are private, it would not do to burden Josephine with such insecurities, not when Josephine has problems of her own to contend with.

            Secrets, however, cannot remain such forever.

            They are, the two of them, in Val Royeaux, and while Josephine has concluded her business, and there is no need of Cassandra's presence within the relative safety of the city, they are to remain for another few days while others among the Inquisition finish what it is they came to do.  Being the romantic that she is, Cassandra naturally concluded that the days should best be used as an amorous retreat of sorts, and had planned a day's worth of outings accordingly.

            Naturally, nothing went according to plan.  The flowers which she had brought Josephine in the morning were the only kind her lover was allergic too.  The restaurant she brought Josephine to was inauthentic Antivan cuisine—so much so that Cassandra herself noticed.  To top everything off, the opera which she had brought Josephine to (having received a reliable tip from Leliana that Josephine enjoyed such things) was terribly tragic, and not terribly romantic.  Josephine did not seem to be upset by any of this, but then Cassandra knew that it would be rude to complain about any such thing, so it was possible that she was just being humored.

            Any one of these things, alone, might not have been enough to trouble Cassandra, but the combination of all of them leads her to doubt herself, to once again question whether she is good enough for Josephine, whether this relationship is one that has been doomed from the start because she does not know how to operate within a romantic relationship which exists solely between two women.

            Ever kind, and ever observant, Josephine asks her what troubles her, notices when she seems out of sorts.  This, of course, makes Cassandra feel worse, and so naturally she does what she thinks may be the worst possible thing in the situation: relates her concerns, in excruciating detail, sparing nothing, and does not stop talking until she cannot look at Josephine for shame.  Now, if Josephine has been feeling the things she has, there is an out.  Even if she had not felt such, how could she now look at Cassandra the same way, Cassandra whom she has called strong, Cassandra whom she has believed was sure, steady, always, Cassandra, her relationship with whom she has never called into question. 

            But Josephine says no such thing.  Instead, Josephine draws nearer her, cups her jaw and turns her head so that they are making eye contact, looks her in the eyes, and kisses her soundly, and it is better than any reassurance she might have spoken.  Cassandra has long valued actions over words, and she knows that this gesture is Josephine accommodating her preference, saying to her in her own way that things are not as bad as they seem, and while it does not fix Cassandra's concerns (for that will take time, and effort) it goes a long way towards alleviating them in the meantime.

            Perhaps Cassandra does not know how two women ought to be, but if Josephine can content herself with how they are, then so can Cassandra.  Perhaps they need not be anything more.


End file.
